The Villain Slaps The Protagonist’s Halo - Chapter 59

Chapter 59: The Protagonist Must Die

The treacherous rebels would never let up easily. Throughout the night, sounds of clashing echoed incessantly, filled with furious roars and agonizing cries. Blood splattered across the paper windows, seeping faintly beneath the doors, painting a vivid picture of a hellish scene in the mortal realm.

Inside the palace, Prince Jing sat quietly in the darkness, listening to this grand massacre unfold. Despite being the sole member of Xuanjia, his abilities were limited. Occasionally, stray individuals breached the palace's defenses, only to be swiftly dealt with by Prince Jing.

The night passed amidst the flickering of blades and shadows. Nie Jia, sleepless throughout the night, had dark circles under his eyes. As he stepped out of the palace in the early morning, Chiyang Palace seemed entirely transformed. The snow and blood vanished without a trace, not even a hint of the previous night's peculiar scent lingered in the chilly air. At first glance, it appeared as if nothing had occurred.

However, the tense atmosphere among the palace inhabitants couldn't be ignored. Awoken in the dead of night to witness the bloodshed at Chiyang Palace, everyone seemed on edge, except for Prince Jing, who appeared unperturbed. After a lackluster breakfast, he headed to the veranda to bask in the sun.

A footwarmer lay at his feet, and the warmth of the sun soon lulled Nie Jia into drowsiness, causing him to doze off beneath layers of fur.

The news of the widespread assassination attempt at Chiyang Palace had spread throughout the court. It was rumored that Prince Jing emerged unscathed, yet he didn't attend the court session. Courtiers, shocked yet feigning concern, sent inquiries, but none delved into the origins of the assassins. Nie Jia had a hunch that any document not thoroughly read would be promptly incinerated.

"Your Highness, Prince Jing has arrived," an old eunuch whispered, unsure if Prince Jing had already fallen asleep.

Nie Jia opened his eyes, a glint of coldness shining from beneath his lashes.

"I heard you've not been taking your medication these days, Brother King. I personally brewed some this morning. Please have it while it's warm," Jun Changyue, pale-faced, led the attendants to Nie Jia's side, presenting a steaming bowl of medicinal soup.

"What poison did you put in this?" Nie Jia asked nonchalantly.

Seating himself beside Nie Jia, Jun Changyue self-mockingly chuckled, "The guards around you are very thorough in their duties. Everything I sent has been thoroughly inspected before being allowed near you. I hardly have the skill to poison anything for you."

Indeed, for the past few years, Jun Changyue had been taking care of Nie Jia's health. The brutal incident five years ago left numerous lingering ailments in Prince Jing's body, rendering him too frail to reach adulthood. Yet, Nie Jia, looking at him, made no move to touch the medicinal soup Jun Changyue had brewed for five years.

Instead, he lazily closed his eyes, continuing his nap.

Jun Changyue paid no heed to his indifference. Quietly, he said, "Chiyang Palace was incredibly perilous last night. Brother King, you were fortunate to emerge unharmed. But such situations may become more frequent in the future. If you had earlier agreed to my proposal to bury Sikong Han, you wouldn't be in such a perilous situation now, faced with the fury of the courtiers."

"It doesn't matter. Let them come; I'll kill as many as they send," Nie Jia lazily hummed.

Jun Changyue, pale and smiling, said, "Do you truly believe killing will resolve everything?"

"And what if it doesn't?" Nie Jia's gaze held a mocking glint.

Jun Changyue's expression turned impassive. "Blades dull eventually. Haven't you noticed that the only people at your command are the guards? Inside the palace, you're the king of Yan, but outside, your life would be at risk. The lesson of weaving one's own web, you taught me that in childhood."

"When Sikong Han was weaving his web, did you advise him as you're advising me now?" Nie Jia provocatively targeted Jun Changyue's emotional scar.

As expected, Jun Changyue grew upset. Glancing at Nie Jia, who seemed nonchalant, he sighed heavily before leaving abruptly. When he reached the gate of Chiyang Palace, he turned back, gazing at his casually seated elder brother, his eyes reddened with tears streaming down his face. "You killed Sikong Han. Though I resent you, I've never harmed you. Nor will I in the future. You saved my life when we were young, now we owe each other nothing. Take care of yourself." With his back turned to Nie Jia, he added, "The medicine can alleviate your pains temporarily, even if it cannot cure them entirely. Whether you drink it or not, it's up to you."

With that, he briskly departed from Chiyang Palace.

Nie Jia's fingertips slowly traced the pattern on the hand stove. He paid no mind to what Jun Changsheng's reaction might be to the rift with his younger brother. After Jun Changyue left the palace, heading to the northwest frontlines, his unparalleled medical skills won the soldiers' hearts. Allying with the resurrected Sikong Han, they gained the support of the entire northwest region.

The northwest frontlines housed six Xuanjia, Sikong Han's stronghold, requiring absolute strength to subdue. Soon after Sikong Han and Jun Changyue acknowledged each other, all six Xuanjia fell in the northwest.

Thinking about this, Nie Jia waved away the palace attendants beside him and summoned the Xuanjia. "Still not back?" he asked.

The Xuanjia replied, "The border journey is long. Round trip takes days. They should be returning soon."

Nie Jia furrowed his brow, soothing his stinging knee. Those legs were too troublesome!

"Don't worry, Your Highness. We will protect Your Highness's safety even at the cost of our lives," the Xuanjia assured, seeing the young monarch's anxiety, assuming it was mistrust directed at him, quickly pledging loyalty.

Nie Jia remained silent. He was anxious. The Yan Country was no longer under Jun Changsheng's control as Jun Changyue had proclaimed. What sustained him was the Xuanjia. Killing Sikong Han was due to them. His ability to maintain the throne despite a penchant for bloodshed was because of them.

Now, with public support lost and courtiers contemplating rebellion, without the Xuanjia, Jun Changsheng would lose everything. Both his rule and life were in jeopardy. It wasn't just Jun Changyue who saw this; even the commoners understood. With the death of Sikong, the tyrant would shift blame onto another warrior, inciting unrest throughout Zhuolu City.

If someone incited rebellion from behind, the Xuanjia alone wouldn't safeguard the young monarch.

After last night's probing, it seemed the entire court knew the insufficient defense around the young monarch. In this volatile situation, to fulfill the original owner's wish of "death to those who oppose me," Nie Jia couldn't remain confined to the palace. But he didn't want to wander aimlessly; he feared losing contact with Shi Chen. Nie Jia clenched his teeth, feeling the torment every moment.

He longed to see Shi Chen, even risking death, but he wanted to wait for him.

At that moment, a palace guard hurriedly approached, kneeling before the corridor, gasping for breath. "Reporting to Your Highness! Triumph! General Gaodi's elite forces triumphed over the barbarians, capturing four of their cities. The barbarians have surrendered, willing to submit to Great Yan! General Gaodi leads the victorious army, already arrived at Zhuolu City!"

Nie Jia was taken aback. Gaodi, the military commander stationed in the southern barbarian front, was not a remarkable leader. Could he defeat the ferocious southern barbarians and pacify the region? Startled for a moment, Nie Jia suddenly snapped out of it—it must be the Xuanjia!

"Go to Xuanwu Terrace!" Nie Jia urgently ordered.

At the Chiyang Palace, Jun Changyue sat despondently by the table, readying to depart the palace. He had given up on his terminally ill elder brother. Once he left the palace, regardless of how the courtiers butchered the royal palace, it would no longer concern him. He only wished to return to the northwest, where traces of Sikong Han's existence remained—the sole solace in his remaining years.

The palace servants conveyed news of the southern victory.

Jun Changyue was stunned. "By Gaodi?"

Impossible!

On the Xuanwu Terrace, numerous guards stood, attendants flanked the area. Nie Jia was tense, eyes fixed on the tightly shut city gates without blinking.

Several high-ranking officials under the terrace were equally nervous. With Zhuolu City in turmoil, it was the perfect opportunity to dethrone the tyrant. However, Gaodi, a mere provincial governor, had never set foot in Zhuolu City. Lazy and averse to trouble, they assumed they could lure him with promises of high positions and wealth. After all, who genuinely wanted to remain loyal to this tyrant? With Gaodi's victorious army, the mere secret guards were insignificant!

The courtiers were resentful, but the commoners felt differently. Despite the slain body of the famed General Sikong still displayed on the city walls, they rejoiced in the news of victory on the battlefield. A triumphant Yan Country was preferable to the imminent reign of the tyrant. Hearing of the returning army, the city's populace crowded the streets, eager to witness the victorious soldiers.

Soon, the city gates swung open, revealing soldiers in pitch-black armor, their attire not black but adorned with countless dried bloodstains, layer upon layer, turning their armor dark. Each soldier was marked in this manner, their count of kills on the border unknown.

At the forefront of the troops, instead of Gaodi, rode a stranger clad in battle gear, a bloodied blade at his waist. His face was hidden behind a chilling iron mask, concealing his features. His cold, grey eyes exuded an icy killing intent, chilling those who met his gaze.

The courtiers were overwhelmed with dread.

On the Xuanwu Terrace, the moment the army entered the city gates, Nie Jia stumbled backward, his legs forgotten in the pain of the fall. The attendants rushed to help him, finding the young monarch kneeling on the ground, trembling. His eyes, now red, were fixed on the intimidating leader, unable to utter a word through clenched teeth.

As the leader gazed from afar at the chaotic terrace, his dead, lifeless wolf-like eyes unexpectedly showed a hint of shock.

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